Becoming One
by MrsMellarkkk
Summary: Short one-shot of Peeta and Katnisses first time together. Very much an Everlark piece and suited to the typical hopeless romantic. Rated M for obvious sexual content. Reviews and comments are appreciated!


**WARNING: This piece of writing contains sexual references and language throughout. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone under the age of fourteen, but let's be honest, whoever listens to the warnings about this type of thing anyway?;) **

Today, it is exactly one year since the rebels won the revolution. Exactly one year of us becoming liberated. Exactly one year since we allowed the hope for happiness to seep back in to our hearts.

This also means it's just a little under that time in which me and Peeta have been in an official relationship. It seems strange to think of what we pretended to have, throughout both the seventy fourth and seventy fifth Hunger Games, was anything less than a typical case of skinny love. We were besotted by each other, but neither one of us would admit to it, for various reasons. Deep down inside myself I know this not true, it's not as though Peeta ever did anything to hide his adoration of me, and I cannot deny my tenderness towards him was far from instant. But it's how I like to think of it. Our enchantment with each other, a tangled complex case of yearning skinny love. Because now I cannot imagine a time when I am not devoted to him, I cannot imagine feeling any safer or anymore contented than in the cosy nest in the crook of his neck. Or with my head on his chest, rising and falling in perfect harmony with the melody of his heavy heartbeat, our legs entangled in a web of our devotion to each other.

I love him. There's very few things I have been so certain about in my life, and my everlasting infatuation for the boy with the bread is one of these things, perfectly balanced with my certainty that my sister was the most beautiful girl to have ever lived, the kindest and most generous soul, of who's void could never be filled. Who's memory would never wander far, from that irreparable organ, breathing steadily under my breastbone. In perfect balance with my positivity in my belief that President Snow, and all his twisted minions, were poisonous, and that now they have been rid of, Panem has a decent chance of homing laughter and delightfulness once again, with a sufficient amount of time to heal from the wounds they had inflicted. In perfect balance that, right here, right now, is the right time. The clock has just struck midnight, and he lies next to me, and even though we are two completely different beings it's as if our minds have merged to become one. We are not touching, but we do not need too, we don't need to be in each other's arms to feel the aura of compassion wrapping tightly around us. But I _want_ him to. Right now, in the first few minutes of the revolutions first anniversary, the first of many annual markings of our freedom, I long for Peeta Mellark to retrieve my womanhood.

It sounds rather prude, but the talk of anything more than a passionate caress of our lips, has never been dropped in to conversation. To be honest, when you're the poster couple for a major uprising, the most powerful, yet the most endangered pair in all the nation, matters as trivial as love making don't seem all that important. Not before, anyway. Not when Peeta was recovering from the Capitol inflicted torment, causing him to resent for quite some time. It sounds stupidly sentimental when I write it down, but nobody can deny , it must of taken a pretty powerful feeling of love and desire to break Peeta's brainwashed state. It is all people ever say to me, and I know I should be flattered, but they give off the indication they feel sympathetic towards my partner, as if he would always be more in love with me than I would he. And maybe that was the case at first, when I was to wrapped up in the games and Gale and becoming the mockingjay, but now? Now I would describe our flame for each other indistinguishable from one another. I want to prove this. I want to prove how comforted I feel by his presence, the warmth that races up my back when I feel the touch of his steady, able hands entwined with my own, the fire that roars in my stomach when our lips join together, the passion. Right here, right now, I want to show him. To show them all. To show them how much the boy with the bread really means to me.

He is awake. He is pretending not to be, but when it comes to Peeta I have developed a sixth sense in intuition. His arm is still lazily wrapped around my neck, feet fitted securely in mine. I take him in, one last time before I banish the innocence of our relationship. Gentle strokes of angelic blonde waves lap his forehead, halting at his angular face, shaded a hue of delicate peach. His cheekbones are prominent, and his jaw stout. He looks exactly how he did when I first set eyes on him all those years ago in the rain outside the bakers, same fair locks, same muscular and firm facial features, jaw just as rounded, skin just as flawless. But something's different. And not just the permanent reminders of war and pain, coming in various shapes and shades, decorating his facial flesh. It's as if, with those scars, a glowing net of something magnificent has been fitted. Something two and a half years of trauma and forced premature maturity has triggered. Every cloud has a silver lining, my mother always used to say to me. It is in this moment, I finally realise what she had meant.

I shake him to attention, so carefully that I have to attempt to do so again, this time with a little more oomph. "Hey." I hear him mutter sleepily. No matter what I do, no matter what I have done, Peeta is rarely aggravated by me. Tonight is no exception. I watch him as he positions himself upright so he can listen to whatever I had wanted to tell him. I am positive he didn't expect the words that my lips form. "I want to do it, Peeta. It's the right time." The flicker of anticipation that appears in his eyes tell me he has caught my drift. However, he persists. "The right time to do what?" He mumbles gormlessly, not meeting my gaze. I reply with a kiss, oozing with passion and lust. That kiss alone is enough to conform his previous suspicions, enough to convince him that my prediction is correct. Tonight's the night.

We caress for what seems to be hours. Our lips entwined with one another's, our lustfulness yearning at us to take things further. I take Peeta's hands and place under my shirt, leading his fingers with my own to the back of my bra, indicating for him to unhook it. To free me. He does. And then, satisfied with my persistence as permission, he removes my night shirt as well. I am not wearing any pants. I hungrily tug of his vest, and feel his heartbeat, raw and exposed against my own bare bosom, for the very first time. It allows us to feel even more entwined that the kissing had, as we become closer and closer to becoming one being. We allow our ravenous lips to embrace for a little longer, until I feel Peeta's delicate finger dance up my thigh, halting at my underwear. Once he has unveiled my genitals, I can feel them aching for companionship. I find my hands fiddling with his underpants and am met with his tool, thick and throbbing in my tender grasp. Without thinking, I am stroking his member, bewildered by its eagerness, and its obvious adoration of my features. I position my thighs spread out over his calves, as I begin to show my appreciation by showering the shaft in a flurry of prolonged, steady butterfly kisses. Peeta groans. I allow my wrestling tongue to finally peep from my mouth, and before I can restrain it, I am moistening his penis with it, marking my territory. Making him my own. My lover is grunting repetitively now, and before I can take my caressing any further, is pulling me softly from my armpits so my body is resting on top of his own. We are both completely exposed, our skin melting in to each others, our beating breastbones stronger now that they are dancing with a partner. I allow Peeta to thrust himself inside of me. I allow him to break down the walls I once thought were forever firm, the walls of my virginity.

The love making is indescribable. I cannot bring myself to refer to our actions that night as anything other than the creating of an unimaginable passion. I know how melodramatic this whole affair may sound, but when you really and truly adore another individual in such a way, there is no way to be subtle or understated about it. To think others endure something so precious with strangers, or people that bring them nothing but misery, and not even the littlest dusting of compassion. It saddens me. When Peeta has came, I refrain from moving. Instead, I lie above him, listening to the combined lullaby of our bodies functioning in the most of perfect harmony. He is the one to punctuate the blissful silence. "So…wow…" He breathes, his breath tickling my forehead. I give his shoulder a playful shove. "You're meant to say something really sentimental and totally pathetic!" I insist, rolling off of him, attempting to weave the atmosphere with a little light heartedness. Frightened that the intensity still lingering will be too much to bare, causing impulsivity and lust to overcome me once more. "And get mocked for it? Um, no, I don't think so, sweetheart." He teases back, placing a delicate peck on my cheekbone. His fingers flutter over the spot in which he planted the kiss, as though, if he was gentle and careful enough, he would be able to retrieve the peck from my flesh, meaning he'd be able to present me with it all over again. "I love you, Katniss Everdeen."

I can feel the tears threatening to spring from my sockets, but my new found confidence and stability manage to hold them down. I allow myself to look unblinkingly in to my soul mates eyes, because, if you think about it, that's the closest phrase I will ever find in which to describe Peeta's presence in my life, and I say it. For the first time, I properly let the words in their most basic, most affective form, float from my mind and seep out of my mouth. I had said it before, in passing comment or simply to humour him, but not like this. Not with those three little words carrying such weight, such certainty. "I love you, too, Peeta Mellark."

**Authors Note: So, yep, this is my first one shot! I had planned to do a special thing for valentine's day based around Peeta and Katniss's first time, however I was unsure how to upload the story back then and didn't bother writing it. After playing around with the site for the last couple of days though, I realised how to put it up and so I set myself the challenge to complete a short little corny romantic thing to post tonight, instead. **

**I tried very hard to make this piece as far from sleazy and perverted as possible, as I am a great believer that sex should be seen as more than just 'a bit of fun'. I dream of having a connection as strong and indestructible as Everlark's, and therefore if this whole thing seems a little overdramatized for you, this is why. Finding my soul mate is very important to me, so writing from the point of view of someone who has found that special someone was both intriguing and difficult task for me. Reviews are obviously appreciated, as per usual. If you liked this piece, feel free to check out my ongoing story, Tidal-Wave, a story of love, betrayal and emotional despair, from the viewpoint of the one and only, Annie Cresta. **

**Thank you for reading!:) **

**Love Lauren xxxx**

**Link to Tidal-Wave: s/10025057/1/Tidal-Wave**


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